


Fare Thee Well

by brokenidjits



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse, Anxiety Attacks, Anxious Dean, Dead Parents, Dead siblings, Dean Blames Himself, Dean Hates Himself, Depressed Dean, Depression, Explicit Language, Flashbacks, Foster Care, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Murder, Orphan Castiel, Orphan Dean, Panic Attack, Self Harm, Serial Killer Castiel, Submissive Dean Winchester, Suicide Attempt, Tags Subject to Change, completely unhealthy relationship, dean and cas go through tragedies together, kind of a kid fic? at some parts, probably explicit sexual content, self hatred
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-09
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2019-04-20 11:57:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14260464
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenidjits/pseuds/brokenidjits
Summary: Dean's family is killed in a house fire when he was eight.Castiel's family was killed in a car accident when he was ten.Both boys blame themselves.Stuck at the same hospital, and later the same foster care, they have no choice but to become friends, especially because they are roommates.Through the years, the boys became close friends, best friends, until suddenly they were more.That is until Castiel disappeared.Now, years later, a serial killer by the name of Morningstar is making headlines, and Dean knows it's Castiel.Or the story when Dean falls in love with a serial killer.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I previously posted this, but I am changing some things around, so please disregard the previous version!

Mary Campbell was nineteen when she ran into John Winchester in a bar not too far from the University of Kanas’ main campus. She was wearing a pair of light washed high waist jeans and a long sleeve loose crop top. Her hair was pulled back, showing off sparkling earrings, and her arms were looped through those of her friends. She remembers this exactly because it was that night that she met the love of her life and fell in love.

John was in a similar state. The moment he laid eyes on Mary Campbell, he was gone. His friends would later laugh at him and tease him for all the previous preaching he did about “love at first sight” being bullshit.

That night changed everything.

Two years later, the two were getting married at Plymouth Church of Lawrence, Mary becoming Mrs. John Winchester. The two were completely in love, anyone with eyes could see that, and just over a year later, the pair were announcing their first pregnancy.

Halfway through the pregnancy, the Winchesters started the hunt for the perfect family home. The moment they stopped outside of the two-story home, they knew it was the one for them. There was a sprawling tree outside, which Mary ran her hand over as they walked passed it. The front porch was a generous space and they fell in love all over again when they stepped through the door.

The kitchen was a wide space, perfect for cooking family meals, and there was a connecting dining room. The living room was a decent size, a couch and chair filling the space now. Mary made her way upstairs, finding three bedrooms. The biggest was at the end of the hall and came with an attached bathroom; the master. The other two bedrooms were across from one another, one being directly over part of the kitchen, and the other being over the living room.

John wrapped an arm around his wife’s waist and they shared a look. A week later they put in an offer fifteen thousand less than asking price and a week after that, the house was theirs.

Dean Michael Winchester was born at 3:51 in the morning on Monday, January 24, 1994 after thirteen hours of labor. He weighed eight pounds, seven ounces and was nineteen inches in length.

Dean was a loud baby, always crying unless he was cuddled close to Mary, never wanting anyone else to hold him. Despite the challenges they had with Dean, Mary and John loved him regardless, no matter how many sleepless nights there were. Within months of him being born, he stopped crying whenever John would pick him up, much to his father’s relief.

His first birthday came and went, and the pair started trying for another baby, hoping to give Dean a younger sister or brother. Though they tried, they were repeatedly unsuccessful. Dean turned two, and then three. Still not yet pregnant, John and Mary went to specialist, leaving Dean with his godmother Missouri. On their third visit with Doctor Novak, he announced that there was nothing wrong with Mary’s egg nor John’s sperm and that if it was meant to happen, it would.

Two weeks from Halloween in 1997, John came home from work and found Mary and Dean carving pumpkins on the kitchen table. Well, Mary was carving, while Dean was smeared in pumpkin guts.

“Daddy!” Dean cried, running full speed at John who didn’t hesitate to pick him up, despite the mess. His shirt was already greasy from working with cars all day; a little pumpkin wouldn’t do anything.

Mary smiled from the table and started cleaning up the pumpkin insides before Dean noticed. She then stood to greet her husband, straightening her shirt. It was black, with a skeleton’s chest outlined and below the ribcage was another little skeleton, curled up in fetal position.

John stared at Mary. “Are you-”

She smiled and nodded. “We’re having another baby.”

Mary wanted another boy, but John was insistent on getting a girl. And on May 2, 1998, at 1:53 in the afternoon, the Winchester’s second son was born. He weighed seven pounds, eight ounces and was twenty-two inches in length. They named him Samuel Johnathan Winchester.

Dean instantly doted on his younger brother, constantly wanting to hold him whenever one of his parents weren’t and was often found in the mornings on the floor in front of Sam’s crib, sound asleep.

It was November 2, 2002, halfway to Sammy’s fifth birthday. Sam and John were at the park, but instead of going with, Dean stayed behind to help Mary in the kitchen. They were baking pie, Grandma Campbell’s special recipe. Mary let Dean have some of the berry filling and he grinned from his place on the counter, watching as Mary made the crust and filled the pie.

Just before the pie was ready to go into the oven, the front door was slammed open, Sammy’s cries echoing through the house. Mary went running, maternal instincts screaming to find out what was wrong. Sam fell on the way home, skinning his knee, crying as blood swelled to the surface. Mary cuddled her second born, kissing away his tears while Dean still sat on the counter. Grandma Campbell’s recipe sat next to him and turning his head, he was quickly able to figure out how long to put the pie in for.

When the oven beeped, Mary, having soothed Sam into a nap, came into the kitchen, and found Dean taking the perfectly golden-brown pie out of the oven, his hands carefully wrapped in oven mittens.

Mary smiled down at her first born, ruffled his hair and let him have the first slice of pie with vanilla ice cream when it cooled enough.

After dinner and chores, the Winchesters were sitting on the couch, mindless television playing in the background as Dean recounted baking the pie for John.

“And I put it in the oven all by myself!”

“You did a great job, Dean,” John said. “But next time, make sure Mommy or Daddy is with you, okay? I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Dean nodded. “Yes, sir!” He gave a mock salute and they both laughed.

“Okay, boys,” Mary said. “Time for bed.”

 "Mommy, can I read Sammy his bedtime story?” Dean begged, hands clasped, as he climbed off John’s lap.

Mary Winchester donned a look of consideration, and turned her gaze to Sam, who was on her lap. “Do you want Dean to read to you tonight?”

Sammy grinned and laughed. “Yes! Dean read!”

“Can Mommy still tuck you in?” Mary questioned next with a fake pout.

“Duh, Mommy!” Sammy giggled, leaning forward in her arms and placing a wet kiss on her lips.

Mary laughed, and smiled at her oldest. “It appears that Mr. Sammy wants you to read to him tonight. But you must let Sammy pick the book, okay?”

“Okay,” Dean confirmed. Mary set Sammy down and they both took off running. Dean made it to the stairs first but pretended to need to go slow on the climb up to let Sammy beat him. A Scentsy air freshener was burning on the bed side table, the smell of lavender hanging in the air. Sammy’s bedside lamp was already turned on, and Sam himself was sitting on the bed, all ready for Mary to tuck him in.

“I win,” he declared proudly.

“You did,” Dean said. “You’re so much faster than me.”

Sam giggled again, and Dean made a silly face.

“Mommy! I beat Dean!”

“Oh, did you now?” Mary mused as she entered the room. Sam nodded, joyful. Mary ruffled Dean’s hair as she passed him, and Dean smiled again.

“Sammy, baby, what book do you want?” she said softly, as she tucked him in under the covers.

“Chicka Chicka Boom Boom,” Sam mumbled rubbing his eyes. Mary handed Dean the book, and he crawled into bed with Sammy, sitting up next to him. Mary kissed Sam’s forehead, and shut off the overhead light as she left the room. The stairs creaked as she walked back down them, and Dean started to read softly: “A told B and B told C, “I’ll meet you at the top of the coconut tree.””

By the time that Dean had gotten to the last page and read the last sentence (“Chicka chicka boom boom”), Sammy was fast asleep. Dean tossed the book onto the bedside table and pressed a kiss to Sammy’s forehead, in the same spot that Mary had kissed fifteen minutes earlier.

“Goodnight, Sammy,” Dean whispered as he got off the bed, and shut the bedside lamp off. He shut the bedroom door behind him and ran to his bedroom where Mary was waiting.

“Sammy sleeping?” Mary asked with a smile.

Dean nodded and curled up in his mom’s arms.

“Dean, do you know how much I love you?” Mary asked softly as she opened his book (Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone).

“To the moon and back,” Dean replied, shifting so he got comfortable. “I love you double that!”

Mary laughed again and kissed Dean’s forehead. She opened the book to where they left off and started to read. “Chapter Six: The Journey from Platform Nine and Three—Quarters”. And much like his younger brother, he fell asleep before Mary had finished reading that chapter.

* * *

 

Dean woke up to the smell of smoke and he coughed, tasting the bitterness of it. Sammy’s door was already open, and Dean could see the flames inside the room. Without a thought for himself, he ran into Sammy’s room, intent on saving his little brother. He froze upon walking into the room. Flames climbed the walls, and smoke hung heavy. So heavy he could barely see anything.

Sammy was still in his bed, flames starting to climb it as well.

“Sam!” Dean screamed. “Sammy, you have to wake up!”

The boy’s chest didn’t move but Dean didn’t stop trying to wake his brother.

“Dean!” Mary scooped him in her arms, while John grabbed Sammy before running down the stairs. The fire was biggest in the kitchen, the oven a glaring orange and blue. Skirting through the dining room, pushing Dean ahead of her, Mary was almost out of the kitchen when the ceiling above her cracked and crumbled.

A burning wooden beam came crashing down, pinning Mary under it.

“Mommy!”

“Dean, go. You need to run,” she begged, wheezing. “Run and don’t look back.”

“Mommy I can't leave you.”

“Be strong for Mommy, Dean. I love you.”

The other side of the kitchen collapsed as John skirted through the door, cradling a limp Sammy.

“Mary!” He set Sammy down, shaking his head at the burning question in her eyes. Too much smoke had gotten into his lungs too quickly, making it impossible for the boy to breath. He’d been dead before they had even gotten out of the bedroom. John nearly had the beam moved enough to get Mary, flames crawling up his arms, when another piece of the ceiling caved, sending more drywall, wooden beams, and stuff from Sammy’s room sprawling around the kitchen. A piece of Sam’s crib nearly missed Dean, but John wasn’t so lucky as drywall hit him smack on the head, knocking his breath out. His moment of adrenaline faded, and the pain from the fire made itself known.

Mary’s eyes were half open, her blonde hair finally catching fire, as blood surrounded her.

“Dean Michael!” John shouted. “Go! We love you, we’ll see you soon, okay buddy?”

“Daddy!” Wet tears streamed down his face, and he was still frozen in place.

“Dean, please. Go!”

Strong arms scooped him up, running him outside, screaming and kicking and crying. The firefighter deposited him in the arms of a paramedic, before running back into the house.

The air was chilly and wet, but Dean didn’t notice as he continued to fight, wanting, no needing to get back to his dad.

Flashing lights surrounded them, and firefighters had multiple hoses going but it wasn’t enough. The left side of the house collapsed first, before bringing the rest of it down a few seconds later.

Dean was wrapped in a blanket and an IV stuck in his hand before they put a mask over his face for oxygen. The doors to the ambulance shut and the last thing he remembered before passing out was that he didn’t tell his mom and dad that he loved them back.

* * *

 

In the hospital, nurses and doctors tried to get him to talk, but his mouth was firmly shut. His paperwork simply had his last name, Winchester, as that had been printed on the mailbox. He later overheard the fire and police chiefs talking to a nurse and doctor.

“He’s the only survivor. Full name is Dean Michael Winchester, born January 24, 1994. At the scene was his mother, Mary Sandra Winchester, originally Campbell, born December 5, 1971. His father, Johnathan Edward Winchester, born June 7, 1971, was transferred to the hospital, but time of death was called an hour ago. Also at the scene was a second kid, identified as Samuel Johnathan Winchester, born May 2, 1998. He was dead when we arrived, suspected smoke inhalation.

“The fire started in the kitchen, most likely from the oven, and spread up first. Samuel’s room was right above the kitchen, which is why we suspect he passed so quickly; he was the first affected,” the fire chief said.

“Dean watched them all die, essentially. That boy is going to be a fucked-up mess one day, warning you now, if he doesn’t get into therapy tomorrow,” the police chief added.

“Doctor Rejak! We need you in trauma immediately! Car accident on 70 involving Doctor James Novak, his wife, and son!”

Dean rolled over in bed, tuning out the sound around him as more cases came and went.

The fire started in the kitchen. In the oven.

The oven where just earlier that day, Dean had been the last one to touch it.

November 2, 2002 was the first and last day Dean Winchester baked a pie. It was also the last day he could look at a pie without immediately throwing up and hurting himself.


	2. Chapter 2

There was nurse in Dean’s room when he woke up the next morning. She was standing next to the bed and messing with the machine above him.

“How are you feeling, Dean?” she said softly. “Do you have any pain?”

Dean shrugged, not saying anything.

“Can you tell me on a scale of 1-10, with 10 being the worst, how much pain you’re in and where it hurts?”

Dean thought for a moment and then held up ten fingers.

The nurse’s eyebrows shot up. “10?”

Dean nodded and pointed to his chest, right where his heart was. Where it hurt the most.

The nurse’s eyes filled with sympathy. “Do you have any physical pain, Dean?”

Dean nodded and held up ten fingers again before pointing at his chest. It was physical. It felt like a vice was squeezing his chest, getting tighter and tighter with every passing moment and tighter even more with every reminder that he was never going to see his parents or Sammy again.

The nurse sighed. “Do you have any other pain, Dean?”

He nodded and held up three fingers before pointing to his head. Before the nurse could say anything, there was a knock on the doorframe. A woman stood in the door in a grey pantsuit with her greying brown hair pulled back in a tight bun.

“I’ll grab you some medicine while Ms. Tapping talks with you.”

The woman, Ms. Tapping, moved out of the doorframe so the nurse could pass before walking closer to Dean’s bed.

“Hello, Dean. I’m Ms. Tapping but you can call me Naomi,” she said. Dean stared at her. “Has anyone said anything about what happens next?”

Dean shook his head.

“I’ll let you in on a little secret: most people don’t like telling kids in trauma cases what happens next. But I think you deserve to know a little bit about the next steps,” Naomi said. “We’ve contacted some of your mom’s family and we are waiting to hear back from some of them regarding taking you in due to the circumstances. We’ve also contacted your godmother, Missouri, who you will be staying with until we find a more permanent placement for you, okay?”

Dean nodded again.

“You won't be released for a few more days, due to possible smoke inhalation and any other problems that might arise. The doctors want to keep you safe and alive. If you want to, you can ask a nurse to take you around the hospital in a wheelchair, so you’re not stuck in this room all day. I’ll be back in a few days to check back up on you and get you released into Missouri’s care. Everything’s going to be okay, Dean.”

Naomi patted Dean’s hand and took her leave, the door still open behind her. Dean wanted to scoff. Everything will not be okay. Nothing would ever be okay again.

The nurse from before walked back into the room, a syringe in her hand. “This is some medicine to help with your headache, okay, Dean?” When she finished putting it through his IV, and told him to get some sleep before leaving, cracking the door.

Dean closed his eyes, but he wasn’t tired. He couldn’t stop picturing his mom stuck under that fiery beam, the smell of burnt hair, smoke, and coppery blood.

“You don’t have to listen to her, you know.”

Dean’s eyes flew open and he sat straight up. A boy not much older than him stood in the now open doorway. He was a bit taller than Dean, with messy dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He had one arm in a sling, and tiny cuts all over his face. There was white cast on his nose, and his left eye was swollen and bruised. He walked further into the room, shutting the door behind him.

“Sarah means well, but you’re a kid in a hospital. They aren’t going to do anything if you don’t listen,” the boy continued. “I’m Castiel. Castiel Novak. What’s your name?”

Novak. Dean vaguely remembered doctors running around last night because of a car accident involving a Novak family. Dean squinted at the boy.

“Are you deaf? Or a mute?” Castiel asked, coming closer.

Dean held up two fingers. Mute.

Castiel nodded and pointed to the bed. “May I?”

Dean shrugged and Castiel sat on the end. He pulled the clipboard from the holder. “Dean Winchester. Nice to meet you. Why are you here?”

Dean pointed at the clipboard. Surely it held all of the details. Castiel looked down, flipping a few pages before finding what he was looking for.

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel said soberly. Or as sober as a little kid could be.

Dean mimicked writing and Castiel hoped off the bed to grab an empty a pen and blank piece of paper. He handed them to Dean without question and watched as he slowly wrote out something.

_How old are you?_

“10.”

 _Why are you here?_ Dean was pretty sure he already knew the answer, but he wanted to make sure.

“Car accident. Somebody hit our car on the way home from my friend’s birthday party. Both of my parents died. I survived with a bunch of cuts, a broken nose, and a broken arm. They had to do surgery to straighten my nose, that’s why I’m wearing this stupid thing,” he said, gesturing the white cast covering his nose.

Before Dean could write anything else, the door opened and the nurse, Sarah, appeared with a wheelchair. “Castiel! This isn’t your room. You shouldn’t be in here.”

Castiel groaned. “I’m just making friends, Sarah.”

Sarah crossed her arms. “You can make friends another time. Maybe when you weren’t trying to get out of your therapy appointment?”

Castiel donned a look of innocence. “I have no clue what you’re talking about.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Say goodbye to Dean and get back to your room. And if I catch you out doing what you’re not supposed to again, I’ll-.”

“You'll what? Tell my dad?” Castiel challenged, his eyes tightly guarded.

Sarah closed her eyes and sighed. “Just go, Castiel.”

He left with a glare and didn’t turn back except to wave at Dean. Dean waved back and then Castiel disappeared.

“Dean, it’s time for you to go to therapy.”

He shook his head.

“This is not up for discussion, Dean. It’s being ordered by the hospital.” She unhooked his monitors and moved his IV bag to the wheelchair’s pole before helping Dean out of bed to the chair.

Therapy was three floors below them and in an opposite wing. The doctor was already waiting for Dean and introduced himself as Victor. No matter what he said to Dean, Dean stayed quiet, not saying a word or making a sound. Victor, to his credit, didn’t get angry or impatient. Instead, a look of understanding crossed his face.

“Dean, I know that you’re not going to say anything, but can you listen?”

Dean nodded.

“There isn't much we can do right now since you're not talking, but I want you to know that this is not your fault, Dean. There is a thing called survivor’s guilt where the person or people who survived while others didn’t feel guilty and believes they should be blamed since they survived. In extreme cases-”

Dean tuned Victor out because he knew this was his fault. He used the oven even though he knew that he was only allowed to use it when his parents were there and helping him and because he didn’t listen and didn’t do what he was told, he messed something up. If he would have just left the oven alone, then everything would have been okay. His parents would still be alive. Sammy would still be alive.

Victor didn’t hold him for long and Dean spent the rest of the day in his room, staring at the closed blinds, wishing he weren’t alone.

* * *

 

The next morning was the same. Except this time Castiel didn’t visit him in the morning. Dean hardly knew the boy, but he wished he was there, even if they just sat in silence. After lunch, Victor appeared, a woman Dean didn’t recognize with him.

“Good afternoon, Dean. How are you feeling?”

Dean shrugged. Everything still hurt. Everything was always going to hurt. This he knew for sure.

Victor didn’t look discouraged by the lack of response and instead turned to the woman. “Dean, I’d like you to meet Eileen Leahy. She’s works with the hospital on some cases and with some patients, especially those who are deaf or mute since she herself is deaf.”

Eileen was pretty, and she smiled sweetly at Dean. “Hello, Dean.” She moved her hands as she spoke.

“Eileen is going to teach you some sign language so that you can have an alternative method of communicating. Does that sound good?”

Dean shrugged again. He guessed sign language was cool but then he would have to talk.

Victor sat in on their first lesson while Eileen perched on the bed and taught him basic gestures and words. Dean picked up the movements quickly, and though he was still mostly using finger spelling, he was starting to like it in exchange of speaking. Eileen promised to come back tomorrow, while Victor told him that while he would discharged tomorrow afternoon, he would still be returning to the hospital a few times a week for therapy and to learn more ASL.

The room wasn’t empty for long once they left. The door creaked open and Castiel appeared, a wide smile on his face. Dean smiled back and waved.

“Hello, Dean.”

Dean signed back, _Hi, Castiel_. His finger spelling was still slow but it made it easier for Castiel to understand him.

“When did you start signing?”

_Today._

“Do you still need paper?

Dean nods and writes _I don’t know much sign language yet._

Castiel shrugged. “Me neither.”

Dean laughs.

“I just wanted to come see if you wanted company.”

_Always._

Dean scoots over and Castiel crawls up to sit next to him on the bed before turning on the television. They flipped through the channels, landing on random ones and not staying for long. They finally stopped on a movie channel and shortly after, both boys were asleep, sharing the one blanket, the movie playing softly in the background.

Sarah was the one that found them, some thirty minutes, but couldn’t bring herself to wake either one. For the first time since being at the hospital, both boys were sound asleep, and not flinching or shaking from nightmares. She let them both sleep, well into the night and pretended not to notice when Castiel snuck out of Dean’s room as she was leaving at one in the morning.

* * *

 

Eileen was back the next day, in the morning, to teach Dean more sign language. She also lent him a few books with more signs to learn and refresh before she’ll see him next, which wasn’t for a week. Naomi came back as Eileen was leaving, the pair signing goodbye to each other.

“Your discharge paperwork is being filled out right now, and Missouri should be here to get you within the next hour or so and then you’ll be heading home,” she assured Dean.

Dean angrily scribbles on his paper. _NOT HOME. HOME IS GONE_.

“Okay, not home,” she placates. Dean crossed his arms. “I’ll be checking in on your periodically while we try to sort out a permanent living situation.”

_Family?_

Naomi shook her head. “I haven't heard back yet. We’re reaching out to some cousins of your mother’s, but still haven't heard back anything promising.”

Dean could read between the lines. He could tell he wasn’t wanted. They probably knew it was all his fault.

Naomi sighs. “I’ll be keeping Missouri updated and she can choose what to discuss with you unless it’s something I feel that you should know, okay?”

Dean nodded, if only to get rid of her because he wanted to see Castiel again before he left, even if it meant hunting down the boy himself. Naomi left the door cracked when she left, and Dean sat, wringing his hands together, eyes glancing between the clock and the door.

Thirty minutes had gone by and Dean was prepared to get out of bed to find Castiel himself when the boy pushed through the door, a small white box in his hands.

“Sorry, I had to wait for this,” Castiel said, holding up the box. “It’s for you. A goodbye present.”

Castiel handed the box to Dean and it was barely open before the smell hit Dean. Apple and cinnamon. Castiel opened the box the rest of the way before Dean could tell him no, and the sight of the small, perfectly round pie that sat in the middle taunted Dean.

He flinched, his hands shoving out the knock the pie to the ground, smashing it into pieces. “No!” Dean’s voice was hoarse and Castiel’s eyes widened in shock. “No, no, no, no.”

Dean continued mumbling the single word, wrapping his arms around himself, nails digging in to the skin. The pain grounded Dean, and he couldn’t stop, needing the pain to remind him that the smell of smoke wasn’t real, the smell of hair and human flesh burning wasn’t real, none of the smells were real.

“Dean?” Castiel whispered.

“No, no, no, no, no.” Dean kept repeating the word over and over, his nails digging in enough to break the skin in some parts.

“Dean, it’s okay,” Castiel murmured. He wrapped his around a shaking Dean. “It’s gone. It’s okay.”

Sure enough, the scent of the pie was gone, and Dean couldn’t see the mess on the floor anymore.

“It’s okay,” Castiel said again.

“No,” Dean repeated.

Sarah walked into the room and saw the boys huddled on the bed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Castiel said quickly. “Just hugging my friend goodbye.”

Sarah narrowed her eyes. “Why is Dean crying?”

“He’s going to miss me, duh,” Castiel said, surely rolling his eyes. Castiel kept Dean’s arms covered, hiding the few marks of blood from his nails.

“Wrap it up, Castiel. Dean’s guardian is here to get him and take him home.”

“No.” Dean only spoke loud enough for Castiel to hear. “Not home.”

Sarah left the room, going to get Missouri, and Castiel pulled back. He wiped away traces of blood, and unless you knew what to look for, Dean’s arms looked fine.

“I’ll see you around, Dean. Surely we’ll run into each other sometime in the hospital.”

Dean nodded eagerly. _See you soon_ , he wrote on the paper before Missouri appeared, wrapping Dean in a giant, warm hug.

“Oh honey,” she said. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

She held his meager belongings that came with him from the house and promised to take him shopping for some new clothes as soon as possible.

Dean gave Castiel another hug before leaving, wrapping the other boy tightly in his arms.

“See you soon, Dean,” Castiel said, waving as Missouri led him down the hall.

 _See you_ , Dean signed back. Visits back to the hospital were something to look forward to if it meant seeing Castiel.

But Dean didn’t see Castiel at the hospital again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to write and upload this chapter. Also I think I fixed the issue with it showing as 1/1 chapters, but let me know if it's still showing as complete!


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